Crimson Red Arrows
by O PolemArch
Summary: Story of a pilot in the opening days of the second soviet war. PG13 for violence. Read and Review, please!
1. Chapter 1

RA2 Novel-Crimsion Red Arrows  
  
Chapter 1  
  
CAPE COD NAVAL AIR STATION, MA, 3:42AM  
  
*BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ*  
  
Captain John Bryant slowly drifted out of his dream, rolled over, and slapped his alarm clock, which had just gone off. It kept buzzing. He half-opened one eye to check the time.  
  
"Morning already?" He mumbled as he looked at the clock. "Has someone been playing with the clock again?" he said out loud, strongly suspecting myles, the base engineer, who had a knack for practical jokes. When he checked the alarm, though, it was still set for 6:30. Then something hit him. He jumped up out of bed and ran for the direct phone line to base command. "What the Hell is going on?" He shouted into the recciever "What happened?"   
  
"Sir, we have reccived orders to send the entire squadron south to the USS Wasp, which is currently anchored in NY harbor."   
  
"What happened? Why?"  
  
"Sir, my orders are to relay this command to you and to orchestrate the takeoff from Cape Cod. You will take off, revendous with the tanker over connecticut, and reccieve your breifing there. This is all I know, Sir."  
  
A cold chill ran down Bryant's back. "I defeinitely hope this doesen't mean what I think it does." He said under his breath. He then walked back to his bed and threw on his flight suit and boots. Had to look good for the rest of his troops. 3:50. No time to waste. He ran out of his quarters, down the hall, and into the next building where the rest of the squadron was still sleeping.  
  
"EVERYONE UP! NOW! WE GOTTA BE IN THE AIR IN 10 MINUTES! THIS IS THE REAL THING! EXPIDITE!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.   
  
"Good one boss, can we go back to sleep now?" Asked one of the more tired pilots.  
  
"You think this is a joke? I just got orders and you just lost 2 minutes talking to me! NOW MOVE!"  
  
This got them moving. As soon as they finished, (you would be surprised how fast people can dress when motivated correctly) John discussed the mission as they walked toward the flight line. "Ok listen up people- we will take off at 0400 and proceed in a southwesterly direction toward New York, rendevous with a tanker from Stewart at 0430. We will reccieve further orders from the tanker crew. Until then maintain total radio silence. Understand?"  
  
"YES SIR"  
  
"Alright then, Let's do it!"  
  
The crowd of pilots began to run and split up, each heading for a different aircraft. There were in total 16 AV-8B Harrier II's at the airbase. As John reached his, the sargent in charge of the aircraft greeted him with a quick  
  
"Good morning, sir."  
  
"Morning cheif. How's she loaded?", he asked as he made an extremely quick walkaround of the aircraft.  
  
"Two gopher zappers, two harpoons, two sidewinders, a drop tank and 2500 rounds. I warmed her up for you, you just have to start the engine and go."  
  
"Anti-Shipping? What for?"  
  
"No idea sir, I just follow the orders."  
  
"Thanks, cheif", he said as he climbed the ladder. "See you later." he added, hoping that he actually would.  
  
"You too, sir."  
  
He sat down his ACES II ejection seat, Straped himself down, closed the canopy, and enjoyed the last few seconds of silence he would hear for a while. Then he started the engine. The huge 238000-lb Rolls-Rolyce Pegasus 11-61 thrust vecotored turbofan spun up gradually, starting with a high piched whine and slowly building itself up to a low pitched roar. He then angled his thrust nozzeles down, locked them in place, and pressed the transmit button on the control stick.  
  
"Com check, com check this is group leader callsign Scorch to squadron-report in, over"  
  
"Scorch this is Flash reporting, over."  
  
"Scorch this is Taco reporting, over."  
  
"Scorch this is Xena reporting, over." Said the squadron's only female pilot.  
  
And the list continued, until the 15th pilot reported in.  
  
"Cape Cod tower this is Scorch, requesting permision to lift off tarmac 19, over."  
  
"Scorch this is Cape Cod tower, permission granted, lift off and proceed to tanker revedvous immidately. Use total radio silence. Good hunting, Captain."  
  
"Roger, wilco. Thank you. Scorch out."  
  
What had previously been a loud noise now became a insanely loud uproar as 16 Harriers turned their engines up to full power and lifted off the tarmac, hovered for a second, and then one by one, as if by slow motion, angled thier thrusters to the aft and drifted forward, gradually picking up speed until they reached normal thrust and turned south, flying in formation over the water. 


	2. Chapter 2

Crimson Red Arrows- Chapter 2  
  
Fifteen minutes later, the squadron arrived at the arranged refueling point. A KC-130, the inflight refueling version of the famed C-130 Hercules, awaited them there, flying in a large holding pattern. John was surprised at the level of protection this tanker was reccieving. He knew that these were always protected, as they were basically flying gas tanks, but he had never seen one surrounded with eight Black Eagles, high performance Korean-made air superiority fighters. As the flight approached the tanker, the lead three harriers slowly separated from the rest, their pilots handling their throttles with finesse, matching their speed with that of the tanker. There were three long, black hoses with drogues on the end extending from three parts of the aircraft. As the harriers closed in, each pilot activated a switch that extended a long refuling probe. Finally, each plane connected with it's respective hose and fuel began pumping into the aircraft.  
  
"Good morning, Captian. This is Major Brian Riley, U.S. Army" said a voice over the intercom.   
  
"Good morning sir. What's going on? Why was my squadron called up at this time at night, and why do you have such powerful escorts?"  
  
"Well sir, the situation is like this. At approximately 2100 last night several of our infared spy sattelites picked up a huge amount of movement coming from the Soviet naval bases near Muramansk. We called the Soviet embassador, but he said that this was a regularly scheduled exercise in the North Atlantic. However, the next time our sattelites were able to take a pass, the ships were not in the scheduled exercise area but in fact several miles south, heading towards our coast at high speed. We went again to contact the ambassador, but he had apparently caught the last plane out of town. President Dougan called Premier Romanov directly, realized that the Soviets had begun to attack, and oredered our missle system online. However, it appears that the soviets had sabotours in our missle defense system, and the silos were destroyed before we got off a single shot. You now have the job of defending New York from the Soviet fleet. This would explanin the loadouts your planes were given. It seems that they have already taken Long Island, and are using it as a staging point. Your job is to sink any ship you can find in the harbor that is not American, especially the SS-18 battlecruisers, codename Dreadnaughts. However, be aware, they are well escorted with SS-13 class friggates, codename Sea Scorpions. These are excelent anti aircraft vessels, and I would warn you to be wary of them. Also, there are reports of Soviet MiGs in the area. Once you are in the operating area, tune your radio to the special operations band and the SEALs and Special Agent Tanya will be able to act as spotters. Any questions, Captian?"  
  
John pondered this for a moment. The soviets are really attacking? he thought. Danm. "Sir, what kind of friendly support can we expect?"  
  
"The carrier USS Wasp is currently in the hudson river, along with the Aegeis cruisers Ticonderoga and Arliegh Burke, and the destroyers Oliver Hazard Perry and the brittish destroyer HMS Marlborough. There are also Patriot missle sites set up throughout New York and New Jersey. However, as the soviets may have knocked out power to the area, do not expect too much out of them. Anything else?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
"You may now break radio silence as you see fit. Good hunting, Captian."  
  
"Thank you, Sir." At this, the tanker finished pumping gas and released the lock. He pulled back on his throttle and steered down and away from the tanker, making room for the rest of the squadron. He began to think about the invasion. My god, all the people in New York, and my friends, and-no, I can't think about that. I have to keep my mind on the mission. Can't get all emotional. He began to think of the best way to sink a fleet in New York harbor. After flying in formation for another 10 minutes, he tuned to the Spec Ops frequency, hit the encription button, waited for it to syncronize, and then hit the transmit button:  
  
"Scorch to group: Alright, this is the plan. We cruise in at nominal atltitude until we reach the edge of radar range. At that point, we drop down to treetop level. As we approach the city, we will divert North and come in over the water along the edge of Manhattan Island. I will take the Hudson River to the left with Taco, Zippo, Magnet, Shotgun, OJ, Smokey, and Doughboy. Xena, you will take Flash and the rest of the sqadron to the right along the Harlem River. If you run into any fighers, remeber that you can hover, and they can't. Hide behind buildings if you have to. We will form a pincers around the fleet at the end of the harbor and blow those reds right out of the water. Watch for bridges- I don't want any accidental collisions. Don't turn on your radar until you're sure that the reds know we're here. Surprise is key. Acknowledge, group."  
  
"Yes sir!" Shouted 16 voices over the radio.  
  
"Alright, were going in!" At this, the squadron dipped their noses sharply down and screamed toward the water. They leveled out about 30 feet above Long Island Sound, and then banked sharply north towards the state of connecticut. The planes popped up over the beach and wove in and around, dancing ever so closely and dangerously near each other and the ground. It seemed as if they were playing chicken with the buildings and trees, flying seemingly intentionally towards the obstacles. Glass shattered as jets roared past, mere feet from the windows. People were knocked to the ground by the power of the vibtations. Leaves were stripped from trees. Nevertheless, the skil of the pilots oughtweighed the danger of the flight. After thundering over Connectucut and then the Bronx, they screamed over the hudson river and split into to groups. The first streaked left, soaring under the Manhattan bridge and south along the Harlem River, neither in the Bronx or in Manhattan. Scorch and the second group banked to the right, low over the water between New York and New Jersey. Scorch concentrated very hard on keeping the aircraft stable and low as he carefully zipped under the George Washington bridge. He then noticed little specks on the horizon. Don't fire just yet-he thought as he powered up his ASM-125 Harpoon anti-ship missles-they could be the friendlies... A little closer...come on...  
  
"This is USS Wasp to US Marines aricraft! We are under attack! Require immediate assistance!" Cracled the radio suddenly.  
  
"Scorch to Wasp wilco! Approaching from the north! Watch your fire!" Scorch was now in his element. He expertly swiched tagets from the group on the left side of the river to the one on the right, and selected the missle on pylon four. A group of small boxes appeared on his heads up display, each box surrounding a blip on the horizon. He used the hat on the throttle to select a target. The long one in the center of the group looked important. I hope I get someone important, he thought. The lock on tone began to ring in his helmet.   
  
*BEEP_____BEEP__BEEP_BEEP_BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP_BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*   
  
"SCORCH, FOX ONE!" 


	3. Chapter 3

RA2 Novel- Crimson Red Arrows  
  
Chapter 3  
  
"Shotgun, fox one!"  
  
"Smokey, fox two"  
  
"Xena, fox two!" Was heard as each pilot pushed the launch button for his or her respective missle. Each missle streaked forward at extreme speed, trailing white smoke over the deep blue water. It looked like some kind of deadly light and smoke show. John's Harpoon anti-ship missle streaked over the water at low altitude, just barely visible to those onboard the soviet ships. The missle then flew headlong into the side of a dreadnaught, detonating on impact and causing a large explosion as it's 400lb warhead ripped into the hull of the ship. Two seconds later, another explosion rocked the ship as the fire raging inside reached the ammunition magazine, igniting the many cruise missles therein. The ship was torn in half and men could be seen jumping off the decks in all directions, prefering to take their chances in the river rather than be burned to death.  
  
John, however, was paying no attention to the commotion in the water. After his first missle was away, he immediately switched targets and fired again. Have to do as much damage as possible before the reds have a chance to retaliate, he thought with a determined face.  
  
"Group, continue firing! Take out as many as you can! Scorch fox one!" He yelled into his mouthpiece as he flew past the Soviet fleet, made a tight left turn, and loosened off another Harpoon. He had switched weapons to his AGM-65 Maveric anti-tank missle and was about to use it on another ship when cloud of thick black smoke suddenly appeared dangerously close to his aircraft. "FLAK! Break formation! Evade and destroy!"   
  
"Taco to group! I see him! It's a flacktrack-four o'clock!"  
  
"Roger, I got him!" Scorch retargeted his Maveric and fired, pulling up and just barely avoiding the cliffs on the New Jersey side of the river. The missle left the pylon at Mach 1.4, heading towards the flacktrack with precise corrections in course. The maveric is known for it's accuracy, earning from pilots the nickname "gopher zapper". When it was within 3000 yards of the target, it pulled up and streaked down in an arch, detonating its 300lb shaped charge warhead into the roof of the vehicle exactly in the center, and ignting it's fuel tank, causing a massive explosion. Nearby infantry were scatterd and ran for cover. All of a sudden, another burst of flack filled the air. John swerved crazily, thanking god he didn't just fly into that evil black cloud. However, not everyone was so lucky.  
  
"This is OJ I'm hit! Sea scorpions!"  
  
"Shit! Engine fire! I'm bailing!"  
  
"Help! Under fire!"  
  
"EJECT EJECT EJECT!" Screamed John into the radio, cursing himself for not attacking the flack ships first. "US Navy fleet, we require assistance! their chewing us to pieces, he yelled over the noise of his 20mm. Vulcan cannon firing depleted uranium rounds at a nearby Soviet Sea Scorpion.  
  
"I'm on it!" A female voice shouted over the radio. Who the hell is that? he thought when he heard this. The voice sounded like she was having a good time in this insane battle. A second later, however, a gigantic explosion took place and John saw the ship that had been targeting him the whole time explode and begin to sink, showering debris all over the harbor. "Nice shot!", he yelled into the radio.  
  
"Anytime, boss." Replied the voice.  
  
The tide of the baltle had been turned. As John fired off his last air to ground missle, the radio crackled to life again-  
  
"US Marines aircraft this is US Navy aircraft Salty asisting. Sir, what would like us to kill?"  
  
"Anything I don't care just get rid of this danm flak!"  
  
"Yes sir!"  
  
At that moment John saw 6 US Navy Raptor aircraft lift off from the USS Wasp and zoom toward the Soviet fleet. These aircraft were the new variants of the Joint Strike Fighter and could carry up to six rapid fire missliles which were surprisingly accurate for their size. He turned and zoomed though lower Manhattan and came out on the other side, and then turned again, facing the Statue of Liberty. At least she's stil standing, he thought as he scanned his radar for more targets. I guess those Navy pukes are good for something. He suddenly noticed something on his radar that was extremely odd. He saw the ships, and the frienly planes, but what were these other blips over there? They're gigantic, as big as the ships, but the display says that they are about 2000 feet over the water. And then he had a sudden realiztion- Zepplins. He had heard rumors of gigantic floating battleships that the soviets had made out of the plans for the zepplins from the thirty's, but didn't think that they actually built any. I guess I was wrong, he thought with a grimace.  
  
"US Navy, Incoming airships vector 93 mark two!"  
  
"Roger Scorch USS Ticonderoga moving to engage!" The Ageis cruiser slowly turned and began to target the blimps with their SM-1 Standard missles.  
  
"Ticonderoga Firing!" Shouted the weapons officer as he pressed the fire button twice. On the deck of the cruiser, sirens sounded as the doors of the missle bay flipped open, and a huge plume of smoke arose, out of which shot two misles, which streaked up vertically and then arced directly toward the airship, exploding in huge ball of flame on impact. John was about to cheer, when-  
  
"Sir, it appears that the missle has not seriously damaged the airship! It's still moving!"  
  
"What? How?"   
  
"I don't know sir, must have really heavy armor or something!"  
  
"This is Scorch! All available aircraft seek out and destroy the blimps!" As he said this he rolled the aircraft towards the blimps and armed the Vulcan cannon. Let's see how they deal with depleted uranium, he thought with an grim smile. As he pulled the trigger, the gun began spitting bullets out of the barrel at an incredible rate, sending crimson streaks of death toward the Kirov at high speed. Just like arrows, he thought, as he saw the tracers drew a great red line from his aircraft to theirs. The resulting explosion lit up the city like a second sun, a gigantic ball of flame falling at high speed into the ocean, causing a large splash and sending up steam as the searing metal hit the cold water.  
  
"WOOHOO!" yelled one of the pilots upon glimpsing the fireball. It appeared, as of now, that they had won the battle. John was about to request permission to land on the Wasp and was heading in that direction when-  
  
"MIG'S! TWENTY OF THEM AT NINE O'CLOCK!"   
  
"I got em!"  
  
"OhshitIcantshakehimhelpme!"  
  
"hold on!"  
  
"EJECT!EJECT!EJECT!"  
  
"Splash 1!"  
  
"Fox 3!"  
  
"goddanmit where is he?!?"  
  
"Im HI-"  
  
The battle had become a full blown furball. Planes zipped left and right, missles streaked in all directions, and red tracer shells flew by like fireflies on an early summer night. It became hard to tell who was who, and John nearly locked onto one of his squadronmates twice.   
  
"This is Scorch, Winchester, landing on wasp" he yelled giving the codeword for 'out of ammo', and maneuvered almost too fast for comfort toward the deck of the carrier, decelerating and slowing to a hover just seconds before he would have slammed into the ship. Once he touched down, he saluted the deck ordinancemen and looked around, surveying the damage the Soviet attack had caused. Several parts of the New York skyline were burning, particularly in downtown manhattan, where it appeared that a Soviet paradrop plane had made an ungainly descent into a large building. He then looked up toward the air battle. It appeared that his squadron was mostly intact, but he couldn't be sure. It looked like there were only a few MiG's left. As he watched, the Ticonderoga launced another SM-1, which zig-zagged through the sky and flew at the tail of the last mig and exploded, causing one of the wings to fall off. John watched and a parachute with a big red star appeared near where the plane was. He hit his transmit button. "Scorch to rescue helo, prisioner opportunity, 11 o'clock, mig pilot. Group, dont fire on the 'chutes, we might be able to grab some intel from them. Over."  
  
"Aknowledged"  
  
"Roger" He heard in response to his call. He got a salute back from the deck personell, and was about to take off once again, when he reccieved a radio call again.  
  
"This is Ticonderoga to all units in the area, hostiles repelled, you can come home. Good work, Ticonderoga out."  
  
John breathed a sigh of relief, and then released the canopy, sliding it back. As he climbed out, he had to conciously keep himself from thinking about the whole battle that just occured. Keep himself from thinking about who might have died, or the people he just killed. Its just part of the job, he told himself, and having put all those thoughts out of his mind, he hoped that the admiral had decided to suspend, at least temporarily, the 'no drinking' rule that plagued the modern navy. He could use a drink right about now. 


End file.
